


as long as you hold me tight

by ladanse



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Cherik Secret Santa, Christmas Fluff, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Matchmaking, Office Party, this is honestly ridiculous guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 20:39:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9019081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladanse/pseuds/ladanse
Summary: Erik blinks. "Erik," he says, belatedly, holding out a hand, shaking, and (quite reluctantly) drawing away. "And you are correct. You're my - "He can't actually bring himself to say the words "fake date" out loud, and Charles' lips quirk with understanding. "Yes," he says, ever amused. "Shall we?"Erik looks down at the offered arm, and blinks again. In his - minor loss of attention, in regards to Charles' face - he had failed to notice the slim-cut suit jacket, the well-tailored slacks. "I'm going to kill Raven," he mutters to himself, although judging by the way Charles' smirk turns ever-so-slightly filthy, he wasn't as quiet as he had hoped.This is going to be a long night.





	

**Author's Note:**

> cherik secret santa for agents-of-mimg! prompt: fake relationship au, aka the best au ever. hope you like <3
> 
> to my enablers: r, will, carrots - please just. never speak to me about this. let me have p e a c e. also, this is your fault.

 

"But, Erik," says Raven. "It's Christmas."

  
"Yes," says Erik. "I heard you the first four times."

  
"You can't miss the firm's Christmas party. It's _Christmas_."

  
Erik rubs his temples, attempting to stave off the impending tension headache, wishing Raven was as scared of him as the rest of the office. "I can't go. I don't have a date. Emma will laugh at me, and then try to set me up with her Italian cousin, and then I will wake up the next morning assaulted, once again, by the loneliness of a life of nothing but one-night stands. No, Raven."

  
"I could get you a fake date," says Raven, suddenly, looking as though several things have come together at once. "To keep Emma off your back."

  
"No," says Erik. "She'll never buy it."

  
"With this guy, she will. I'm getting you a date."

  
"I said - "

  
"He's exactly your type."

  
"And what is that? Male?"

  
Raven grins at him. "Blue-eyed. Curly-haired. Argumentative." Erik is forced to concede this point.

  
"Unless he plays chess - " says Erik attempting to stall, but -

  
"He does."

  
"Really?"

  
"Really," says Raven. "He'll pick you up. Wear a suit."

  
Erik blinks. "A suit."

  
"Yes," says Raven dryly. "He'll be in a suit, as well." She's grinning, shark-like enough that she had to have picked it up from him.

  
"That doesn't automatically mean that I'm going along with this," he warns. She stares at him, unblinking, and -

  
"Fine," he says, explosively. "But not because of the suit."

  
"No," she agrees. "It's because you like watching your conquests handle chess pieces," and Erik chokes on his coffee.

  
*

  
December 20th, a Tuesday. Erik is, indeed, wearing a suit. He may or may not have picked his skinny black tie to go with the crisp white shirt and silver cufflinks. The skinny tie that may or may not be known to have positive results, at least in terms of getting him -

  
Ahem.

  
He waits calmly (that's a lie; he's pacing) in the living room of his apartment as he waits for his date to arrive. At precisely 6:30, the buzzer rings, and he lets the man up. He opens the door, and -

  
_Oh_.

  
Well.

  
(The universe is happy with herself. Poor Erik, she says, but as we are all aware, she doesn't quite mean it.)

  
The man is, in fact, exactly his type; he has bright blue eyes that capture Erik's gaze and hold it, a mouth that quirks brightly up into a smile, the self-assured grace of the rich, and, of course, the requisite tousled hair falling artfully across his brow. "I'm Charles," he says, holding a hand out. "I understand I'm your means to inviting the envy of your coworkers, tonight?"

  
Erik blinks. "Erik," he says, belatedly, holding out a hand, shaking, and (quite reluctantly) drawing away. "And you are correct. You're my - "

  
He can't actually bring himself to say the words "fake date" out loud, and Charles' lips quirk with understanding. "Yes," he says, ever amused. "Shall we?"

  
Erik looks down at the offered arm, and blinks again. In his - minor loss of attention, in regards to Charles' face - he had failed to notice the slim-cut suit jacket, the well-tailored slacks. "I'm going to kill Raven," he mutters to himself, although judging by the way Charles' smirk turns ever-so-slightly filthy, he wasn't as quiet as he had hoped.

  
This is going to be a long night.

  
*

  
By 8:00, Erik is frustrated, hungry, and bored out of his mind. There are only so many dry and badly frosted Christmas cookies one can eat; only so many times Erik can talk about how he still lives in the same apartment and his (made-up) resolutions for the New Year. There is, also, a finite amount of time he can spend with Charles before jumping him.

  
Charles himself is unnecessarily suave at Erik's elbow, grinning and introducing himself efficiently to his coworkers. When Charles' back is turned, Emma takes the time to wink at Erik, but her eyebrows suggest that she isn't quite convinced by their charade.

  
Fine, then.

  
"Charles," Erik murmurs into his ear, enjoying the way he can lean too close. "Kiss me."

  
"Why?" says Charles, grinning. His eyebrows arch as he takes a graceful sip of champagne.

  
"Emma's not convinced," he replies, careful not to let his eyes flick over to the corner where she's standing, resplendent in a white sheath dress. "Come on. I'll find some mistletoe if you need the excuse."

  
"Oh," says Charles, "that won't be necessary," and gives him a considering glance. Then, without so much as a by-your-leave, he leans up, molds his body tightly to Erik's, fists a hand in the hair at Erik's nape, and kisses him, chaste but remarkably thorough.

  
When Charles pulls back, his lips are redder than they were before (how is that even _possible_ , Erik asks himself in dismay) and Erik has to swallow hard before he says something he'll regret. "Thanks," he says instead, glancing over to where Emma is now openly smirking.

  
Charles' lips quirk. "No problem, darling."

  
Erik can't help himself; he leans in again, lets his mouth open a little, and shivers at the feel of Charles' tongue against his own. Charles nips at his lower lip, and Erik shivers again, feeling Charles smirk against his mouth. Fine, he thinks, two can play at that game, and lets his hand drop to squeeze Charles' hip, his kiss turn rougher, until Charles lets out a low, satisfied noise.

  
"Erik, darling, we're giving your friends a show," says Charles, the breathlessness in his voice making something primal in Erik smug and content. He rolls his eyes and leans in again, but Charles stops him with a palm to his chest. "Behave, darling," he says, sharply, and Erik pretends that the command doesn't make his entire body tense.

  
(It doesn't work. Charles' other hand tightens possessively on his waist, and Erik's breath leaves his lungs in the tail end of a gasp.)

  
Erik feels Charles chuckling lightly, hears him murmur, "No, he just needs a bit of air," and then before he can get his wits back, they are standing in the much quieter foyer of the event hall, the frigid air from outside mingling with the heat of the main hall. He looks up to find Charles simply looking at him, eyes dark and considering.

  
"What if," says Charles thoughtfully, and brings his hand back up to the back of Erik's head. This time, he threads his fingers through Erik's hair again, but pulls, sharply.

  
"Charles," gasps Erik, stepping closer and steadying himself with a hand on Charles' hip. He grins brightly, blue eyes laughing, and brings Erik's head down to kiss him again, pressed up against the corner of the door. Erik loses himself to the taste of Charles lips, letting his hands wander, breaths grow more and more desperate -

  
Someone gives a light, amused cough, and suddenly Charles is too far away to reach, letting out an exasperated breath.

  
"Raven," he says, clearing his throat. "Must you?"

  
Raven rolls her eyes. "Yes," she says, "or you'd be sucking him off in the men's room, and that's ridiculous, Charles, even for you."

  
Charles doesn't deny it, which Erik decides not to examine too closely. Fake date, he reminds himself. Also, the crushing sense of isolation you'll feel tomorrow morning.

  
(It doesn't help. At all.)

  
"Fine, then," says Charles, and Erik's missed some of their conversation. "I don't care how good he is, I'm going to beat him and we both know it. Come on, Erik, back to yours."

  
"Beat me at what," Erik says, feeling like the situation has spiraled out of his control. "Why are we going back to mine?"

  
"Raven said you liked chess," says Charles. His lips are pouting, indignant, as he flags down a cab. "I told her I could beat you. She didn't believe me."

  
"That was...not what I thought you were going to say," admits Erik. "But I'm up for a game if you are. I have some Scotch sitting around too, if you'd like."

  
"Isn't it?" says Charles, the picture of wide-eyed innocence. "And yes, that would be lovely. Come on, I'll get the fare."

  
*

  
Erik can't actually remember having this much fun since the drunken romps of his undergrad years. Even those don't compare, he thinks to himself. Not to Charles, with his bright eyes and lively hands and the way he has set traps that Erik has fallen into twice -

  
Anyway. It's been a nice night.

  
Charles is sitting one leg crossed over the other, leaning back into his couch; Erik watches as he contemplates his next move, letting the Scotch burn, satisfyingly rich, down his throat. He's losing and he doesn't actually care; while playing, they've argued everything from Palestine to the WTO, and through they don't agree, precisely, Erik hasn't yet met someone who could match him quip for quip, point for point, and especially not someone with hair that curls so appealingly when its owner is taking a particularly vocal stance.

  
"You're staring again," notes Charles idly. "Also, mate in three."

  
Erik blinks, studying the board. "Damn," he says, and then meets Charles' gaze. "I was distracted."

  
"Flatterer," says Charles noncommittally, but he hasn't looked away.

  
Erik clears his throat. "Rematch?" he asks, but it still comes out hoarse.

  
Charles' eyes darken again; in the low light, Erik can watch his pupils dilate even further. "Do you really want one? Be honest."

  
"No," says Erik, after a moment, and Charles sets his glass down, stands, and then drops gracefully into Erik's lap.

  
"Good answer," he says, and begins to undo his tie.

  
*

  
Erik wakes up alone.

  
This isn't unusual. What is unusual is the sharp pang of regret; normally, it's just loneliness, despair, resignation, but today it's personal. Erik feels, acutely, as though he's passed by something important.

  
He sits up, wincing slightly, to find a note on his nightstand. _Thanks for the game_ , it says, in Charles' looping, steady script. _Not bad for a fake date_.

  
There is no phone number.

  
Erik wills himself not to be disappointed. It was a fling; they both knew that, and clearly Charles doesn't want to see him again. A night to remember, but not to miss, he tells himself, and goes to make breakfast.

  
*

  
"I'm just fine," says Erik, four times, the next day at work. Two of them are to Raven. Also, to Raven - "He's your _brother?!_ "

  
"Yes," says Raven, her eyes glimmering. "I must have forgotten to mention it."

  
"Bullshit," says Erik.

  
When he doesn't continue, Raven (of course) presses. "It must have been nice."

  
"It was."

  
"You want his number."

  
"No, I don't."

  
"You're pining."

  
"I'm not - what?"

  
"I can tell by your face," says Raven. "Also, you haven't yelled at Alex for messing up your coffee order. You're in deep, boss."

  
"I'm not _in_ anywhere."

  
"Maybe that's your problem," says Raven, gleefully jumping on the innuendo. "Also, I'm obliged to tell you that if you hurt him, I will find hundreds of creative ways to torture you, and that's before I slit your throat."

  
"You don't need to threaten me," says Erik, suddenly tired. "He didn't want me to call him."

  
"What?"

  
"He didn't leave me his number," clarifies Erik. "I would have. If, you know. He had."

  
Raven's face goes suddenly sympathetic, and then her eyes turn flinty. "If you'll excuse me," she says, and is out of the room before Erik can stop her.

  
*

  
"You what?"

  
"Of course I didn't leave him my number!" says Charles, voice tinny over the phone. "I was his _fake date_! Can you imagine anything more ridiculous?"

  
"He wants to call you!" says Raven. "He's actually moping."

  
"I'm sure he's not," says Charles, briskly. "He told me himself that one-night stands are his M.O."

  
"And he told _me_ that he wants something better. Like a boyfriend," says Raven.

  
"Then I'm not the one for him. He deserves someone - "

  
"You're a 26-year old PhD with a teaching position at Columbia. He's the asshole who doesn't deserve you," Raven cuts him off, gritting her teeth. "Also, the fact that you're concerned about this tells me you like him."

  
"Well, yes, but - "

  
"But nothing. I'm texting you his number. Call him."

  
"Raven - "

  
"I'm serious. Or I will come over there and call him for you."

  
" _Raven_!" says Charles, and she stops. "I can't call him," he says, and he sounds oddly vulnerable. "I'd rather not know than have it go badly."

  
"Look," says Raven, unimpressed. "I know you've been crushing on him for years - "

  
"It's more like a few weeks - "

  
" - and that you're nervous because he was on Forbes that one time - "

  
"A month ago - "

  
" - and you have a competency kink - "

  
"That's ridiculous - "

  
" - but you have no reason to be," Raven finishes. "I know Erik. He wants a second date."

  
"But how can you be _sure_?" asks Charles, sounding tired. "Look, I can't talk much longer. I have an appointment with a student in a couple minutes. Just - I'll figure it out, all right? Leave it." There is a click as he hangs up the phone.

  
Raven takes a deep breath, puts down her phone, and pulls a pristine pack of No. 2 pencils from one of her drawers. Drawing them out, one at a time, she begins to shred them systematically into tiny scraps of wood and graphite.

  
"What happened?" says Hank, stopping abruptly at her cubicle when he sees the corpses of several brave and innocent pencils littering the desk.

  
"You know Charles?"

  
"Your brother. Erik's fake date that he went home with and is now pining for. Yes, I know Charles."

  
"He didn't leave Erik his number. And now he refuses to call him."

  
"Are we talking about how the boss is moping over a boy?" says Alex, his floppy blonde head popping up next to Hank's. Hank nods, and goes over to give Raven a shoulder rub.

  
"What are we going to do?" says Angel, joining the group.

  
Raven leans back into the steady pressure of Hank's hands. "Nothing. Charles said he'd figure it out."

  
"Have you met Charles?" says the voice of Emma, _Erik's boss_ , out of nowhere. They all jump and try to make it look like they're working. "Enough," she says, impatiently. "New rule: if the gossip is about Erik's love life, it takes precedence over work, as long as you don't let him catch you."

  
They all blink. She rolls her eyes.

  
"Charles isn't going to do anything. Neither is Erik. That means it's up to us."

  
"What can we do?" says Raven. "Erik doesn't leave his office. Charles will be holed up in his apartment come Thursday, when his classes finish for the term."

  
"Do they normally just have sad Christmases alone in their apartments?" says Alex. "They seriously won't leave?"

  
"Normally, Charles and I spend Christmas together, but I'm going to Hank's this year, so he said he's fine being alone," Raven explains.

  
"And Erik is Jewish, so he doesn't care that much," adds Emma. "He just marathons cheesy Christmas movies on ABC Family, but don't tell him I told you."

  
There is a moment of horrified silence as they all picture Erik watching _Elf_.

  
Then, Angel says, "They wouldn't get out of the house for themselves, right? But would they leave if they thought it was for someone else?"

  
Raven sits up straight. Emma frowns thoughtfully. Slowly, the group begins nodding to themselves, and then leans in to whisper and plot.

  
Thus, Operation Christmas Miracle is born.

  
*

  
"Emma, I cannot believe this," says Erik, regretting every decision he's made that left him owing Emma favors. "You're hosting Christmas dinner, and you forgot to buy a _ham_?"

  
"Oops," says Emma, unconvincingly, over the phone. "Seriously, Erik, what can I say? I don't normally host. But I need to shut up my mom about my cooking skills, and I can't do that without a ham. She can't know I forgot, so you need to go find me one."

  
"It's two o'clock on Christmas Day," says Erik. "There aren't going to be any left."

  
"Well," says Emma, sweetly, "that's just terrible for you. But you - "

  
" - owe you, yes you've said," Erik sighs. "Fine."

  
"Try the Macy's on third," says Emma, helpfully. "That won't be that crowded."

  
"Where all the one-percenters live?" says Erik scornfully. "That's half an hour out of my way."

  
"I already called the stores near you, and they're out," Emma says, sounding almost apologetic. "Also, you're practically rich, so don't go turning your nose up."

  
"Fine," says Erik, again. "I'll call you if I find one. No promises," he adds, and he hangs up.

  
*

  
"You forgot _what_?!"

  
"A ham," says Raven, trying to contain her grin. "Can you pick one up for me? I promised Hank's mother I would bring one, and she hates me enough already. I don't want to screw this up, Charles."

  
The plaintive note she inserts into her voice must work, because she hears him sigh, heavily. "You know, I was comfortable on this couch," he says, and she cheers internally.

  
"You're the best, Charles," she says. "Try the Macy's on third. I already called them, and they said they had one left."

  
"Sounds good," says Charles, and adds, "I miss you."

  
Raven's smile softens. "Me too," she says. "Merry Christmas."

  
"Merry Christmas, Raven."

  
*

  
There is one ham left.

  
There is one ham left, and Erik is going to get it if it costs him his life.

  
He can see it sitting in the deli section - he's almost there - he rounds the corner, and then - some _asshole_ bundled in a long coat and ridiculous red hat picks it up.

  
"Hey!" he yells, "I need that!"

  
The man doesn't even turn around. Erik breaks into a run and grabs him by the shoulder, damning social etiquette. If he loses Emma's ham to some short last-minute shopper -

  
"Charles?" he gasps.

  
Charles looks like he wants to drop the ham and run. "Erik," he says, breathless enough that it takes Erik back to things he should not be thinking about in the middle of a crowded grocery store. "My apologies. Raven needs this ham quickly, so if you'll excuse me," he says, and begins to turn away.

  
Erik doesn't let go. "I need it for Emma," he says. "Raven can go screw herself."

  
"Erik!" he says. "She's my _sister_."

  
"Yes," says Erik. "I'm aware. But Emma said this was the only store - "

  
He freezes. So does Charles, and the realization hits them both at the same time.

  
"What the fuck," growls Erik, and lets go of Charles' coat in favor of pulling his phone out of his pocket. "I'm going to _kill_ her - "

  
Charles laughs lightly beside him. "I know the feeling," he says. Erik scowls, waiting as the phone rings and then abruptly cuts off.

  
"She's ignoring me," he says in disbelief.

  
"Of course she is," says Charles. "They set us up."

  
The awkwardness of the situation suddenly hits Erik full-force - he doesn't need _Charles_ to know that he was pining, for God's sake - and he takes a step back. "Sorry about that," he says, stilted. "You can keep the ham. I don't eat it, so."

  
There's a silence; Erik takes comfort in the fact that Charles looks equally nonplussed. "It's all right," says Charles, finally. "It was probably my fault, anyway. Raven said I was moping."

  
"Were you?" asks Erik, and immediately regrets it.

  
Charles looks away. "A little," he says, with forced calm. "It doesn't matter, anyway. Not everyone is the relationship type."

  
"I'd like to be," blurts Erik, belatedly wondering what the hell has happened to his brain-to-mouth filter. "I mean - "

  
"Really? I thought - "

  
"Yes, really, yes," Erik babbles, finally giving up on dignity, "I was so upset when you didn't leave me your number - "

  
"Raven said to call you - "

  
" - but she wouldn't give me yours, and - " Erik is finally able to stop talking. "Well. I'm glad they set us up, a little."

  
"You should come back to mine," says Charles, laughing brightly. "We can marathon Christmas movies and plan our revenge."

  
Erik smiles, slowly. "That sounds perfect," he says, and is astonished to find that he means it.

  
"Go put the ham away," Charles says. "I'll call for Chinese instead. I assume you'll be staying for dinner?"

  
_Much longer than that, if I can,_ thinks Erik. Out loud, he just says, "Of course." Charles turns away, but Erik stops him with a hand on his arm, and leans down to brush his lips against Charles' cheek. He feels silly instead of romantic, but it's worth it for the way Charles' eyes glaze slightly, his lips turning up at the corners.

  
"I must have misjudged you," Charles says, when Erik straightens. "I think you'll be my Christmas present to myself."

  
A laugh bubbles its way out of Erik's chest, almost against his will. "That sounds fine to me," he says, and he's glad no one is around to see the quiet little smile that's etched its way onto his face. It's going to be a good Christmas.

**Author's Note:**

> isn't this just. ridiculous.
> 
> come yell with me in the comments or on tumblr -- also, I take prompts! bollywood-and-phoenix-feather.tumblr.com :)


End file.
